


Cognitive Dissonance

by Chocoholic221B, Foxrox12



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Labor, F/F, Gun Violence, M/M, Mild Gore, Past Child Abuse, implied child trafficking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15706875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocoholic221B/pseuds/Chocoholic221B, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxrox12/pseuds/Foxrox12
Summary: After escaping a hellish orphanage, Kurapika finds himself living on the unforgiving streets, penniless and starving. Enter Chrollo Lucilfer, a figure from the stories his fellow orphans used to tell, who happens to stumble upon Kurapika after a failed attempt at stealing fruit from a vendor’s stand. He leaves him with some advice, none the wiser to the fact that Kurapika has no intention of leaving him aloneNote: This will be on hold as busy with writing for kurokura week as well as some life troubles!





	Cognitive Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome!! I hope you all will enjoy this work that Choco and I are collaborating on. This is a kurokura fic, but anything romantic between the two will happen later on in the story as Kurapika is still a kid right now. Anyway happy readings!

Everyday was a living nightmare now. Plenty of times, he would fall asleep with the dash of hope that he’d wake up in his bedroom, irritatingly bright rays of the rising sun filtering in and burning his eyes. To hear the chatter of his parents down the hall in the kitchen talking about their day plans, to walk in and see those warm smiles once more. The only thing that welcomed him now was the biting cold of the cracked floor where he along with the other orphans were kept. 

He shivered, curling into a tight ball. The thin, gray clothing – scratchy pajama-like cloth – they provided failed to promote either warmth or comfort. A cockroach skittered across the hardwood floor as he blinked awake from his nightmare. No, his memories, the ones that led him here. He closed his eyes once more, preferring to give into his false reality for a second longer, to ignore the world around him. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. And he could almost feel the warmth of his old home when a door was thrown open with a loud bang. It was a miracle the flimsy thing didn’t just break off its creaky hinges.

“WAKE UP, BRATS! TIME FOR ANOTHER DAY”

Kurapika did his best not to flinch at the loud, nasally voice of one of their few ‘caretakers’. He was one of the nicer ones, too. The boy slowly pushed himself up on achy limbs, not wanting to incur the ire of the man. He found out fast that these people were not against raising a fist or delivering a swift kick to any disobedient child within their care. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair, but that was the norm. 

He fell in line with the others next to the door, no longer flinching at the sound of cries from those who had refused to heed the man’s words. A few months ago, he would’ve tried to help, but he knew that wouldn’t serve to aid anyone in the long run. They all waited quietly for the man to lead them out to have their morning meal before being set up for their daily tasks. Quietly, they followed his back, keeping their eyes down and their steps in pace.

Kurapika could only look at his bare feet, which brought back the longing for warm socks that might have protected him from the frigid tiles underfoot. He longed for his warm clothes, the sweaters his grandparents had made, which had been taken away when he’d first arrived. They didn’t even let him keep the only picture he had of his deceased parents. They had instead burned it in front of him.

They all fell in line with the others, who were already waiting for their turn at what concoction their caretakers had come up with this time. He could only hold on to the childish thought that it would be edible. When his turn came he held his hands out for whatever may be placed in them, he hoped it wouldn’t be just a granola bar. He felt the smooth surface of a bowl being dropped on his hands. He took it with a quiet thank you and moved on, grabbing a spoon and napkin on his way. He sat in one of the few open spots, setting his bowl down carefully upon the scratched and dented surface of the table.

Oatmeal was the meal of the day. He stuck his spoon in the off colored dish, only to feel disheartened at the thickness of it. His stomach rumbled and no matter at how inedible and disgusting the food provided looked, it had to be fed. He let out a small sigh and dug into his food, doing his best not to gag. He prayed that it would not make him sick.

===================================================================================================

He, along with a few other children, was ordered to scrub the two top floors until they were ‘sparkling’. The caretakers shoved them toward the stairs, throwing the necessary equipment in their arms. They were expected to finish by lunch time and he already knew that they were set up for failure. It was not possible for them to finish within that time period. He bit back the rage that stirred inside of him. Those bastards gave them too much work on purpose, just so they could yell at them later.

They all trudged up the stairs to the topmost floor to begin their cleaning, mindful of where they put their feet as not to step on any jutting nails. Untreated wounds meant tetanus, meant illness, meant possible death. Doctors never stepped foot within these walls. 

Kurapika scrubbed and scrubbed despite his arms and back screaming in protest. His knees ached, bruised already, with nothing to serve as a cushion between them and the hard floor. He kept swiping his arm across his forehead to remove the sweat that accumulated from his work. His hair stuck to his skin uncomfortably, and he wished he had something to keep it out of his face. 

They had barely reached the end of their first floor when they heard the heavy steps of him, Sir. He was of average height with some weight to him, thought not enough to make him look overly so. He was in his 30’s but his dark, shoulder-length hair was already starting to thin and grey in patches. His eyes were a deep, chocolate brown. Most people who met him would say they were full of care and affection for the children he cared for. They all knew better. 

None of the children there were allowed to refer him by name, just Sir. He ran the orphanage and it was a common occurence to see him stalking the halls, just waiting for any reason, any at all, to inflict punishment. He wondered why, what had any of them done to make him want to hurt them? Why did they allow such a sick person to oversee already hurting children?

Everyone had gone stiff, not even daring to breathe too loud. Some already beginning to curl into themselves, hoping to not draw his eyes. Kurapika kept his eyes glued to the tile, only hearing the racing of his heart. None of them realized they had stopped in their work. 

The last two heavy foot falls had them all holding their breaths. Sir stood a few feet in front of them, his heavy gaze inciting fear. They all remained still as statues.

“Why aren’t any of you ingrates scrubbing?” his voice wasn’t loud nor was it gruff. It was smooth and soft, the voice of a loving father figure, but there was a warning in his tone. A warning they heard above all the faux sweetness. To them, it was the voice a demon. Soon they all picked up where they left off, scrubbing with renewed vigor. 

Kurapika bit the inside of his cheek as his muscles screamed louder at him to stop. He felt a cold spell wash over him as he saw Sir’s shadow loom over him. He didn’t stop, but faltered slightly. He didn’t look up nor did he speak, if he wasn’t addressed, he was to keep his mouth shut. 

“Kurta.”

He stilled and his heart just about leapt out of his chest. 

“Yes Sir?” his voice cracked. He held on tightly to the brush, his knuckles turning white.

There was a long pause, one filled with such tension he swore that it could suffocate him. He almost hoped it would, just to put an end to all this. Maybe then, he could go home, back to his parents, back to the life he knew he would never find a semblance of here.

“You missed a spot,” he pointed to where he supposedly missed. Kurapika looked to it and couldn’t see what Sir saw. He bit his tongue on a retort and nodded. 

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir. I will make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he promised 

“Yes, you make sure of that, and remember you have an appointment with Leroute. After all, your mental wellbeing is a concern of ours.” 

“Yes, Sir, I will not forget.” 

Once those shiny black shoes left his sights, he could breathe a little easier, but now he only felt dread at his appointment with Leroute. She was their child psychologist, hired to help all the troubled children in their care. She only served to make things worse. He suspected they actually hired her to break them even further. He would not let her break him, though, no matter how hard she tried. He focused on what he was doing, the tension making the ache in his body even worse.

=====================================================================================================

The pretty psychologist sat in front of him with a sweet smile on her painted lips. Her bright, cherry pink hair tied back into thick, wild pigtails by yellow ribbons atop her head. As usual, she was dressed in a simple, solid-colored blouse and black jeans. Magenta eyes sparkled with that characteristic curious glow she’d had since day one. Her intentions were clear and vague at the same time. He knew what she wanted: To see him crumble, this time beyond repair. Kurapika was something of a favorite of hers. Leroute absolutely loved prodding at his psyche, the most challenging and intriguing one she’d ever had the pleasure of destroying.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” she spoke, her voice soothing and haunting at the same time, as she explored his mind. “How do you feel today?”

“Alright,” Kurapika replied, his voice even. Not too even, however, because that would make it clear he was forcing it. “I scrubbed all two floors today.”

“Squeaky clean, I’m sure,” she replied, twirling a curl of hair around her forefinger. Her nails were stained the same color as her hair, glinting in the cheap fluorescents. “You must be tired after all that.”

Kurapika caught onto that one all too quick. If he answered no, that would take away her chance to speak of his exhaustion, but then Sir might hear of his apparent energy and double his workload. If he answered yes, that presented another set of problems, but perhaps less than the former. 

“As much as anyone else, I’d say,” he replied, though he knew she could see all her proof in front of her. The eyebags beneath his eyes, the pallor to his skin, the scrapes along his arms and legs, all signs of his worn body being put through too much stress. 

Leroute smile was warm but it didn’t reach her eyes. They didn’t crinkle at the edges like they were supposed to. “I’m sure your friends are just as tired as you. Sir tells me you’ve been ‘slacking off’ as he calls it. That your work has been getting faulty.” 

“I’m sorry, I –”

“Don’t worry, I’m not one to judge.” Another widening of the smile, showing teeth this time. “I know you prefer to work alone. You’re certain to relax more with less people bumping into you. That’s why we’re moving some of the people in your group to other teams. I’m sure you’ll be able to work harder with less distractions.” 

They were barely able to finish their work as it was. If they took anyone else off the team . . . that would only exhaust them further. They’d get more sloppy, finish less of their chores, and receive more punishment because of it. 

Leroute’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong, Kurapika?” 

“No,” he replied. “It will be a bit more work, that’s all.” 

“Ah, we thought of that as well,” Leroute reassured. “Since you’ll be working more. We’ve decided you’ll be given more meals and rewards than the other kids.” 

Kurapika froze. 

“Wo-wouldn’t that mean you’re taking that food away from the others’ share?” he asked, cursing himself for stuttering. He had to stay focused.

“Well, yes, but you’re doing more work,” Leroute reasoned, and if there was one thing Leroute knew how to do, it was reason with someone. She could twist your mind around until it was unrecognizable. “Therefore, you deserve more food and rest.” 

He bit the inside of his cheek. “I suppose you’re right.” 

She smiled, victorious. She’d won this round, and now it was time for the next.

“It’s unfortunate that you can’t seem to get any proper rest. I hear your dreams are still as vivid as ever,” Leroute said. 

His fingers twitched at her words and he hoped that she didn’t catch the involuntary movement, but he could see the small upturn of her lips. It was hard to make a move that she couldn’t catch. She watched him like a predator, ready to rip into her prey. Glancing at those nails, he could only imagine them being used to rip into someone’s stomach and wrench out their innards, bloody and mangled. 

“Yes, they are,” his tongue running along his dry lips, uncomfortable as the subject of his night terrors returned, as it often did. “But they’ve been getting better so I don’t really want to waste your time on them.” He played it off as concern over the time she would be sacrificing on him instead of his fellow orphans. 

“Nonsense! I would love to hear about your dreams. They are always so fascinating.” She sat poised and ready, her clipboard and pen in hand to jot down notes on his dreams. His stomach flipped as he began to recount the night of his parents’ death once more.

=====================================================================================================

He felt close to shattering after his session with Leroute. He held it together through his work and even when punishment was served for not finishing in the allotted time. They were given no meal for the night which was fine with him, he didn’t feel like he could stomach food at the moment.

He stood against the wall, watching blankly as the others in the lunchroom ate. This was another form of torture, make them watch everyone else eat as their own hunger ate at them. He didn’t care about his own hunger. He just wanted to be marched back into the cold cramped room they all shared. In silence, he could piece himself back together. 

Once dinner time was up, they were all walked back to the room, his steps a little quicker than the rest, wanting to reach the one place in which they were closed away from these people. Once the click of the lock reached his ears he all but ran over to his spot to lay down and curl up for the night. He didn’t feel like indulging in the talk of the night, which always revolved around the same boy. A boy who had been trapped here just like they were, and had wreaked havoc and escaped. A boy named Lucilfer.

His eyes shut tight in an attempt to block out the mental images of his parent’s corpses, of his recurring nightmares where he witnessed what possible hell his parents went through in those final moments. Sometimes, he even put the blame on himself for the events that unfolded and lead him here. Maybe being here was punishment for not being there for them, for not having died alongside them that day. Kurapika’s hands were shaking as he put them to his ears. He blamed the trembling of his body on the cold, dark room.

============================================================================================= 

Kurapika was absentmindedly dusting off the shelf in Leroute’s office. Today, he was given the ‘honor’ of cleaning up her office on his own. She didn’t have any children in at the moment, so it was just the two of them. She had been poking and prodding at him in the beginning, but now had fallen into sitting at her desk and humming something he couldn’t discern. Maybe, it was something new from the radio. 

He pushed up onto the tip of his toes to reach a higher shelf. With the amount of dust on these psychology books, he could tell she only kept them out for display. 

The ringing of her cell phone caught him by surprise, so much so that he nearly paused in his cleaning. He looked over to see her pick up the slim, pink device to check who was calling. Leroute only picked up calls from people she was in the mood to talk to, and it seemed whoever was in need of her services had been granted that privilege.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t mess anything up while I am gone!” she chirped, that disturbingly fake smile in place.

Once she stepped out he let his shoulders drop. He sighed softly and rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the ache from the monotonous motions of dusting and wiping down surfaces. He looked back up at the shelves he had left to dust with a frown. It would be much easier to reach with a chair. He looked over at Leroute’s unoccupied desk and walked over to grab the plastic chair in front of it to use as a stool. If he dusted quickly and placed it back, there should be no problem.

He walked over and grabbed the back of the chair, ready to drag it over to the bookshelf when a few files on her desk caught his eye. He stared at them for a moment wondering what they were. On one of the visible tabs there was a name of one of the children here he recognized. Curiosity gnawed at him to go take a peek, but he couldn’t risk the chance of Leroute walking in and catching him snooping. God knows what kind of punishment he would receive for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Despite these warnings, he still walked around the desk and looked over the folder in front of him. Kurapika glanced at the closed door, then back at the folders, tempting him to take a look at its contents. Licking his lips, he reached out and carefully opened the folder. The page paper clipped to the left side of it held a photo and basic information of the child, such as name and age, as well as how they came to be there, nothing really eye catching. He turned to the next page, written in the same purple ink as the glitter pen Leroute loved so much. They were notes from sessions, and he only skimmed it until he reached the last ones which were as written, “Would serve well in hard labor, but would require more training from buyer.”

He couldn’t believe what he just read, ‘Buyer?!’ he thought. What could she mean by buyer?! Surely, they don’t mean . . . he didn’t dare continue the thought before flipping through the other files to confirm his suspicions. Grabbing another file, that of a girl this time, he skimmed it quickly until he reached where it once again spoke of a buyer. Color started to drain from his face as he moved on to the next file and the next, seeing the word buyer stand out in each of them. He began to shake as he saw his own now. He felt sick to his stomach as he opened it with shaky fingers. 

“An adorable face, but a bit of an attitude still to him. Requires more sessions with me so I can fully break him. I can feel we are getting close to the breaking point, I’ll give it a few more weeks. He’ll be ready by the deadline. The boy would serve any kind of buyer well, but it’s more than likely that with a face like his he will end up in the sex trade.”

Kurapika quickly shut the file, not wanting to see more, but the words kept playing over in his mind. He felt like he might vomit right there with the way his stomach churned. What should he do, he wondered. He gasped and looked up, hearing the tell-tale clack of Leroute’s heels on the tiled floor heading his way. He quickly set the files back just like he had seen them. His heart was racing as he did his best to calm himself and place back his mask of indifference. He bolted back over to his place at the bookshelf. He grabbed the duster and resumed the task he had been doing when she left. He did his best not to visibly flinch as the door opened. He kept his eyes on the spines of the books as she made her way inside and back to her desk. He didn’t breathe until he was sure she didn’t notice anything amiss. He remained more tense than he was before, as he quickly worked to finish and get as far away from her office as he could within this prison. 

Once finished, he stood before her desk, waiting for her to acknowledge him and let him tend to his other duties. She glanced up and surveyed the spotless room. Then, she waved him out of the room. He nodded and excused himself, holding himself back from bolting out of the room. He could feel those magenta eyes on him.

===================================================================================================

Throughout the day, he mulled over what he should do. He couldn’t just sit and wait for the day they carted him off to be sold to who knows what kind of person. As dinner rolled closer, he started to piece together the connections he had with the other children in those files: they would all be turning 13 this year. They were the oldest ones there, which they all found rather odd. He was told by the younger ones there were others once, but when their 13th birthdays got near they were just taken out of the room late at night and were never seen or heard from again. Now he knew why that was. It only gave him a feeling of disgust and sickness throughout the day. 

At bedtime, he laid in his claimed spot and planned. Planned a way to get out of here before he found himself in a worse fate than even this prison. As he was dragged into the unwelcome embrace of sleep he promised his parents one thing: He will find his way out.  
\-------------  
In the morning, he would look for a possible way out. Windows were out of the question, seeing as most were high up or locked and barred from the outside. Then that left the only two doors that lead outside. Walking out the front door would be difficult, and the back door was locked from the inside. Only Sir could leave through it and who knew where he kept the key. His last option would be to cause a big enough panic that everyone would be too preoccupied to notice him slipping away. If he failed . . . well, it was best not to think about that.

After breakfast, it was the usual routine of work being assigned. He waited along with his usual group, hoping to get an assignment that would assist him in finding an escape route. As the work was given to them he made to follow, but was stopped by a heavy hand falling on his shoulder, keeping him from going along with the others. He waited to see what the problem was and his stomach did a flip thinking it was possible that Leroute had figured out he’d looked within the files. 

“Looks like you are just a lucky one, aren’t ya?” Kurapika didn’t respond, just waited for orders. The man huffed and shoved him. “You get to work in Sir’s office today. I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun.”

This served to put a bit of a damper on his plans, but as per usual, Kurapika would adapt. He couldn’t object to where he would be working, but he could still search for clues in Sir’s office. He didn’t have enough time to backtrack. It was nearing the end of March. He’d never thought that his birthday would one day cause such dread within him.

He ascended the rickety stairs to the top floor where Sir’s office was. He heard unpleasant things about working under Sir’s scrutinizing gaze. The man had a certain way he wanted his office cleaned and organized that you must follow to a T. If something wasn’t done to his liking, he personally saw to your punishment for it.

The boy dumped the brush in his designated bucket of soapy water. It was a cheap soap, which smelled a bit like a medicine cabinet, and wore away at his hands until the skin started to peel off. Brushing his bangs back, he began to scrub away at the dark wood, his mind retreating back into planning mode. 

He couldn’t escape at night. Undoubtedly, there were guards planted on every possible exit, otherwise escaping wouldn’t be so difficult. During the daytime, they kept tabs on them at all times, so that was out, too. They were never allowed even a few minutes outdoors, so even though there was merely a fence separating the courtyard from the rest of the world, even that wasn’t reachable. Besides, Sir’s dogs prowled about that yard, barking at pedestrians and orphans who dared stare too long at them. 

There was no way to leave without getting caught by someone. 

Unless, he disrupted the steady rhythm of the orphanage in some way, just enough to get everyone’s attention off his intended escape route. 

The sound of shattering glass broke him out of his train of thought. His head whipped around to see the telltale golden tinge of beer spilled across the floor, green glass glinting within it. Kurapika sighed, heavily, as he stood. Glass was always a pain to clean up. 

Metal caught his eyes, as he began to kneel back down to the floor. He froze, heart pounding, as he laid his eyes on the simple silver contraption. It was strange how such a small item could strike so much hope and fear into a desperate heart. Before he could talk his way out of it, before he could tell himself ‘no, it’s too dangerous,’ he reached for his chance. 

A lighter. It would only take a flame to set him free. 

His eyes scanned the room for the most flammable things around, and for once, he was grateful that this place had failed to keep up with the housing codes for the past few decades. With almost a vengeful vigor, he threw all of Sir’s files and his rulers – the ones he used to hit them on the back of the hand or the head – near the spilled alcohol, he wanted them to be the first to burn. And then, with an iron grip he didn’t know he possessed, he flicked on the lighter, and put the flame to the alcohol, almost captivated by the glow. 

Kurapika pocketed the lighter, and headed toward the kitchen. He had approximately thirty seconds before the alarm went off. All he needed was another bottle.

The kids threw him odd glances as he sneaked behind one of the caretakers lounging in a chair, analyzing their progress. His gaze was on the bottle of alcohol beside them. It hadn’t been opened yet, probably because the man was waiting for the job to get boring, and Kurapika was certain he wouldn’t miss it. So, he swiped the bottle, glad the other orphans were so used to not caring. 

They’d be fine, of course. Kurapika didn’t intend to hurt anyone. They’d make it out to the courtyard in no time. The building would be damaged beyond repair, though, and hopefully that would force them to build the next one better, if only to keep something like this from happening again. 

The alarm went off right as he was nearing the staircase again, and he could smell the burning wood at this point. He caught a glimpse of Sir bounding up the steps, eyes wide and fearful, and Kurapika felt a small burst of satisfaction within him. 

There was just one more thing to do. 

He unscrewed the bottle in his hand, the stench of alcohol making him wrinkle his nose. This would be unpleasant in more ways than one. 

Shutting his mouth and eyes closed, he poured the contents of the bottle over himself. Just one more step left to take. He glanced at the front door. The guards were gone, sent to get their laborers out of the House. Kurapika smiled, triumphantly. It was a good feeling, having his plan work flawlessly like this. 

He ran the rest of the way to the door, in all his excitement forgetting to watch out for any spectators. That exhilaration was quickly washed away by the cold, bony fingers circled around his wrist. Leroute stared down at him, an impressed smile on her lips.

“Well done, Kurapika,” she praised, “but you shouldn’t have set the exact room you were cleaning on fire. It gave you away.” 

“Let me go,” he demanded, all the fierceness he had lost in his time at the orphanage returning in one solid wave. “Now.” 

“Making demands now, are we?” she laughed, her magenta eyes glinting maliciously in the morning light. “You know, for someone whose been caught, you seem pretty confident. Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure your punishment isn’t too severe.”

Kurapika lifted the lighter. She raised an eyebrow. 

“What do you intend to do with that? You should know I don’t give into taunts,” she said. 

“Oh, this isn’t a taunt. It’s mercy,” replied the boy, for once not faltering at her steely gaze. His resolve was stronger than ever. “Though, I don’t suspect you know what that is.”

“Pika,” she started, sweetly, brushing his alcohol-drenched bangs back, “sweetie, don’t be silly. You’re not this type of person.”

“Guess we’re about to find out.” A flame danced upon the lighter now, just a few centimeters away. 

Her grip tightened, nails biting into his skin. “I can kill you myself if that’s what you wish.”

Kurapika giggled. “Wish? What I wish more than anything else is to watch you burn. But, I’ve taken a page out of your book. I will not give you the satisfaction. Besides, you cannot kill me. I am your favorite patient. With a mind almost as broken as yours.”

There was a flash in her eyes there, and he grabbed onto it. 

“You just love bringing out the darkest parts of people,” Kurapika said, his voice eerily calm. “I hope you find the monster you’re looking for, and I hope it swallows you whole.”

Leroute threw him to the floor. “I think I already have.” She smiled at him, again. “Go on, then, little monster. Let’s see how you fare in the real world. I can’t wait.” 

Leroute walked away from him. She didn’t seem to be in any rush to reach an exit, as smoke began to flow in from the fire. That woman would never change, that much was clear. He watched her back vanish around the corner before picking himself up off the floor. He coughed a bit from the smoke, he pulled the collar of his shirt up to cover his mouth and nose, but the thin material proved little help in filtering the smoke.

He quickly moved to reach the door. No other members of staff stopped him as they were all busy trying to save their own skins and would spare no worry for an orphan. He made it out coughing hard, tears streaming down his cheeks from the smoke. He looked back at the building. engulfed in the flames he created. He glimpsed the children standing outside, staring at the fence, staring at him, and he almost shouted “run! Run now!” But they wouldn’t run. They were too broken. But someday, he’d come back and see them freed. He’d tear this place down in more ways than one. With a last glare of contempt for the hell hole he was placed in, he turned his back to it and ran, ran as far as his legs would take him from this nightmare-ish chapter of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let us know what you think! Comments and Kudos feed authors ^_^


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